Just My Echo
by MikiSwan34
Summary: "I don't wanna be an addict, I just wanna feel alive and, get to see your face again..." Re-write of "Once I Was Real". The Swan-Booth family in crisis. Emma can only maintain her family-glue front for so long. Wooden Swan, Captain Wolf (Ruby/Killian), Snowing, Geppetto/Blue. More inside.


**Title: Just My Echo**

**Fiction Rating: T, maybe M for language and situations later on.**

**Chapter: I Don't Really Know Where The World Is, But I'm Missing Out**

**Characters: Emma Swan-Booth, Snow White, Belle French**

**Trigger Warnings: Alcohol abuse, lots of angst.**

**Note: For most of you who know, this is a rewrite of "Once I Was Real". I deleted my other fics in a crisis moment. I promise I'll try to update this one more. Please read and review kindly and enjoy. I hope this doesn't suck like the last version did.**

It's amazing, isn't it, how a shot of whiskey just vanishes when you don't want to feel anything.

Emma has hardly touched her glass, it seems, before it is empty. Just like that. As if the whiskey had never existed. It's completely gone, all at once.

Gone like all that has ever mattered in her life.

Drink. _Now_.

_Don't...need it...deal with...problems..._

She slams her glass down on the bar emphatically. "Again, please." Vaguely she can hear the faintest of slurs in her hollow voice. Her hands are trembling as she raises them from the bar and wipes the sweat from her palms. She hates this sweaty-palms shit - it only comes when her thoughts get the best of her, about the time her hands begin to shake and her voice begins to crack. About the time she quietly excuses herself from her life and flees.

To the bar. And she drinks until she goes numb, or until she remembers every note of that voice, chimes in a summer breeze to her. Her family hasn't an inkling of this, and she hopes they don't grow aware, because they need her. She's the calm in the midst of the chaos, so it seems. If she's broken, they're not safe. If Emma suffers, the family is in jeopardy. She's the Savior, after all. The whole town needs her, so they believe, but she knows they can live without her. It's her family - her forever valiant yet clueless father, her beautiful, sweet mother, who thinks Emma the perfect daughter. Her husband, who has supported her since she could hardly support herself. Her son, who has been nothing short of her number-one idolizer.

She can't be weak in their eyes.

So she's weak in Belle's. It's pathetic, but it's better than drinking where the kid could find her.

It used to be Ruby seeing her weak, but Ruby won't take the night shifts at the bar anymore. It's probably because of her, but she doesn't care. Not at the moment, anyway. Belle is much more soft-spoken, much easier to beg another drink from, and she doesn't spend every day at Granny's, so Emma doesn't have to face the shame the following morning with her. She's much better to take drinks from.

"No, I think you've had enough for the night."

Apparently, not tonight.

Emma's frustration is the most visible in her hands. She's not sure why - potentially a side-effect of the fucking magic, which spends most of its time in her hands anyway - but her hands shake visibly when she's upset, more so when she's drunk, and they're hardly able to reach and push the shotglass forward at this moment. It's only been this way since her magic has been harnessed, controlled, used.

_Note to self: inebriation, irritation, and magic don't mix_, she notes mentally.

"For the love of God, Belle, give me my drink or I'll get it myself."

"Once again, Emma, you've had enough. You can barely use your hands and every time your eyes shift anywhere you start to slide off your stool in that general direction. You need to go home."

"Or I'll just go down The Rabbit Hole, where Jefferson doesn't question my drinking as long as he's making money off it." She lurches to her feet in an attempt to appear threatening, but Belle knows better than to be fooled by this. Hands on her hips, she swipes the shotglass from the table and hides it under the bar. It's Emma's - she bought it a month ago - but Belle won't let her take it home.

"Emma, you're not handling anything properly and you haven't been for about five months now. I have been doing my absolute _best_ to let you sort things out on your own - because Ruby can't handle that at the moment - but you're not sorting anything. You come here and get so drunk you can't see because you think it will magically cure your grief -"

"I'm not harboring grief. I can take care of myself, dammit. And I'd appreciate you staying out of this. You're not my mother. _She _has no idea I'm even here, and -"

"Oh, yes, I do."

_Shit_.

Emma twists quickly, almost collapsing in the process. Once she's righted herself she gets a glimpse at her mother, whose typical beauty is, currently, eclipsed by blind disbelief and anger. There is a smolder in her bright hazel eyes, the ones Emma and Henry share with her. Her arms are crossed and it seems as if she's attempting to control herself.

"Emma Ruth, what the hell are you doing?"

_About to get in some serious trouble, that's what_. Nonetheless, drunk as she is, Emma maintains a little composure.

"Mom." She speaks evenly, despite the slur. "How did you know I was here?"

Snow strolls into the room, every inch of her presence demanding rapt attention. "You tell me. When you get called in on 'emergency night shift' during a family movie night and Henry calls me three hours later panicking because he can't get ahold of you on _any _platforms, what do you expect me to do? Sit still and wait for you to make your way home, worried sick that you might not? So I called Grumpy, who said you were never even called in, and if you were you didn't show. I called Ruby because she was my next option, and after about fifteen minutes of skittering around the subject, she admits that you're here, drinking your ass off. What is going on with you that you feel the need to lie to _everyone _and find answers at the bottom of a shot?"

Where could she even begin?

_Nowhere. Because your mother can't know you're hurting._

"I'm just having a rough night..."

_There you go. Now we're talking_.

"...and I needed to get away from everyone for a little while. I'll be fine in the morning."

Snow's eyes darken and for a moment, Emma has an odd flashback-esque feeling that her own mother might just hit her. But it's a fleeting feeling as Snow moves in closer to the bar, and to Emma.

"Em...honey...Ruby also told me this has been going on, _frequently_, for five months. Whatever's going through your head...we need to talk about it. We need to talk about her." Snow's voice, harsh with emotion just moments ago, has softened slightly, as if she were talking to a child and not a grown woman.

The walls on Emma's heart flare up. Or maybe it's heartburn. But it sure feels like the walls.

"I think the source of the problem is that we talk about her _too_ much. I'm not going to see the cricket, Mother. I'm not standing in a bar drunk because I want to see a cricket. I'm standing here because I have a husband and a fifteen-year-old son who can't see me like this. Let me handle my feelings on my own." _And stop trying to make me perfect,_ she doesn't say.

"And what _are_ your feelings?"

"That would be none of your damn business."

Snow bristles. "This shouldn't be happening. Go get in my car. We're going home, but I must speak with Belle first."

Emma has almost completely forgotten Belle standing behind the bar, taking in the scene silently. The dark-haired beauty speaks nervously. "Your Majesty, I'm so sorry that I didn't tell you or somehow stop this...she begged and fought and threatened and I thought maybe if I let her do it a few times, it might stop. But it never did...it just got worse."

Snow nods. "It's all right, Belle. My daughter can be a little too hard-headed at times. Is her tab paid up?"

"All but the last drink."

"Um, ladies, still here," Emma is compelled to point out, though she isn't sure why. "I'll pay that now." She carelessly throws a wad of cash on the table. "There's a tip in there somewhere." She isn't going home, but she isn't about to continue her alcohol spree either, not with her mother knowing she's here.

Belle's gaze follows her as she pushes past Snow and heads for the door. Aware of the bell clacking as she swings the door wide open, she proceeds to kick it shut behind her, not caring who may or may not have been following her. She somehow makes her way down the steps and begins to move quickly toward her car, hoping to hell that she could make it there before Snow reached her.

_Slam_.

Too late. Dammit.

"Emma. _Emma._ Get back here."

No reply. She's decided it best to just continue walking. Maybe Snow won't catch her and she'll get away.

"_Emma Ruth!_ Where are you going?"

"To sober up so I can go home."

"_No_. You're going home _now_." Snow has apparently caught her, grabbing her by the shoulder and forcing her around. The sudden motion causes Emma's stomach to turn unpleasantly, as she pushes Snow away and sticks her own head into the bushes, retching.

"Shh..." she can hear Snow whispering as her hair is pulled away from her face and stroked quietly. "It's okay."

She wishes her mother wouldn't touch her, and she makes it plain as she rights herself and flinches away from the hands that attempt to soothe.

"Why would I go home still drunk when I have a recovered alcoholic for a husband and an easily impressionable fifteen-year-old son who's been worried about me? I can't _do _that right now. I can't put my family through this." She doesn't realize her voice has risen at least a decibel since she started to speak. She doesn't care if she's making a scene at one-thirty in the morning. "And _you_, with your we're-gonna-fix-everything attitude, are _not_ helping. I am going to drive somewhere where I can sober up, _without you_, and you're going to stay out of it because it's not your business. I can't do to my son what was done to me as a child and as a teenager. I will _not_ come home drunk and scream and him and my husband. I will _not_ be a part of what _I_ grew up with."

The face in front of her darkens. "Maybe you should have considered that before you made up a half-ass excuse. It's not going to fix anything. You need to talk to August, honey. And Henry...he may be impressionable, yes. But he's bright. Bright enough to understand why you're doing this. It doesn't mean he won't be hurt...but it has to be done. And you're not driving in this condition. It's illegal and having the sheriff arrested on drunk driving charges wouldn't be a good image to project."

Emma laughs, hearing a high pitch in her voice as it catches in her throat. "You think I care, Mother? You really think, after all this time, I still care about my image?"

Snow advances on her and grabs her shoulders. "No. I know all _you_ care about right now is where your next drink is coming from. But I love you enough to stop this. Now. You're coming with me."

Emma doesn't even notice she's moving towards Snow's car until she sees her arms out in front of her, being dragged. She is stung, harshly, by Snow's words.

_Is that really what I've become? Are my drinks all I care about?_

_No, you're protecting the people you love._

"I'm not going. No. _Stop_. Let _go._ I said I'm not _going!_" she hears herself shout, fighting the hands on her own. The two struggle for a moment before Snow simply lets go. Emma is on the pavement before she can feel it underneath her. Above her, her mother leans over, expression oddly frightening for such a gentle-natured woman.

"If you think...causing a scene...in public...at one-thirty in the morning...is going to cause you to get your way, you're wrong," she speaks through gritted teeth, breath ragged. "I _will_ kick your ass, and if you want to fight, we _will_ wake up this sleeping town and they will see _everything_. So if you don't want people to know what you were doing tonight, I suggest you shut up, get up, and get in my car."

Emma really doesn't care if people see, but for the sake of her own self-preservation, she decides not to argue. She hasn't been on the receiving end of a fight with Snow, and it's _not_ on her to-do list. Reluctantly, she stands, brushing herself off, and allows herself to be taken by the arm and pulled to the car. Without another word, she slides into the passenger side, closes the door, and leans her head against the window.

Snow, now starting the ignition, reaches over and pats her daughter on the knee. "We're going to get through this. It will get better."

"No, it won't," Emma whispers, barely audible. "It won't ever be better. Not now."

Judging by the silence, either Snow heard her and chose to ignore it, or she didn't hear a word. The silence is deafening as the car leaps into motion, barely abetted by the motor. It gives Emma too much thinking room.

_A tinkling peal of laughter. Sunlight. A swing hanging from a tree. A happy, sweet little girl, beautiful, giggling._

_"Higher, Mama! We gotta go higher!"_

_She tickles the tiny frame coming out of the air. "Oh, we do, really?"_

_The little one squeals and laughs. "Yeah, Mama! Let's goooo!"_

_She pulls the swing back as far as she can. "One...two..."_

_"Threefourfivesixseveneightni neTEN!" the child shrieks. "Go go go go go!"_

_She lets go of the swing, and the child and swing fly through the air, the child screaming with glee._

_Sudden thunder, out of nowhere. An evil cackle. Lightning barely misses the tree._

_In a sudden outburst of fear, she shoots magic back as more comes their way. The child screams, the tree cracks, as the magic meets midair and explodes in front of their eyes._

_The tree begins to groan, tilting in the direction of mother and child, who is still hanging onto the swing for dear life, perhaps out of fright._

_Another bolt of magic comes hurdling their way. She shoots back more, but it collides a second too late. Combined, it is all it takes..._

_"No. NO! NO!"_

Emma comes to her senses choking back a strangled sob. She can see Snow's worried eyes on her, but she continues to stare pointedly out the window.

_I can't go home. I can't...I need...another drink..._

_Too bad. Your loving mother begs to differ. You're in deep shit now. Time to face the music. This is what you get for being too obvious, bitch._

Emma wills the stupid voice to shut up. But it's right. She's screwed.

_Maybe if you hadn't killed your own daughter, you wouldn't be in this situation_.

She has to fight back another sob.

It's going to be a long night.


End file.
